


Just Another Dude with a Bow

by 4vrAFangirl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Daemons, Deaf Character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Trust, Mind Control, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Guilt, Sexual Identity, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5743042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4vrAFangirl/pseuds/4vrAFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the story everyone knows; about the Avenger named Hawkeye, and how he and a billionaire in a metal suit, a super soldier, a demigod, a spy, and a giant green rage monster helped to save New York and the world, but can pass for another face in the crowd on the streets. This story begins much, much earlier in Iowa, with a boy named Clint, who's just another dude with a bow, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ Addie](http://www.runaepard.tumblr.com), who requested and has so patiently waited for me to get it together and write her a "Daemons AU!", helped with so many late night brainstorming sessions while I was plotting out the mashed up timeline (primarily 616 and MCU) and minutia of this fic, and is entirely responsible for this thing becoming the gigantic undertaking in storytelling that it has become. Much, MUCH more to come. Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> More tags may be added as the story progresses, please reference them to avoid any potentially triggering material.
> 
> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [afangirlreadsfics](http://www.afangirlreadsfics.tumblr.com)

Clint is slow, Barney says. His big brother tells him to shut up, but Clint can't help it; he doesn't understand. 

He knows the men in uniform are cops, and he knows daddy and mommy always told him not to trust them, not to talk to them. He's even vaguely aware that he's seen these particular officers at the house before when his daddy was yelling at their mama and throwing things again.

He isn't trying to annoy Barney, really, but he's not supposed to trust cops, and mama and daddy aren't here. _Why aren't they here, Barney? Where did they go? When are they coming back?_

Clint doesn't flinch when Barney finally snaps at him. You don't grow up in the Barton household without getting used to short tempers and raised voices. And he doesn't cry when his big brother tells him in no uncertain terms that mama and daddy aren't ever coming back either (not in front of him anyway), because daddy always said only girls cry. Clint supposes he would know; daddy was always good at making mama cry. 

Clint watches instead as Barn' walks one of the officers through their bedroom collecting various toiletries and possessions in a large duffel bag, and hugs Mallory tight. If his daemon minds, she makes no fuss, simply nuzzling up against his chest to comfort him and purring. Daddy might not have let him keep the cat he and his brother had found hiding out in the barn, but he could hardly force Clint to make his daemon change form or get rid of her, no matter how red his face got or how much he shouted about it, and not for the first time Clint finds himself gratefully burrowing into her warm, soft fur. Cleo, stays similarly close to Barney, perched firmly on his shoulder, but her eyes follow the policeman and his daemon as they move about the room with an air of suspicion and distrust.

The orphanage is drafty, and the sheets on the bed they settle him into feel scratchy to the touch. It's not much warmer or more comfortable than the few times Clint and Barney snuck out to sleep in the barn to get away from all the shouting. Clint considers asking Barney if he can sleep with him tonight, but decides against it; his brother has already begun to snore.

The Nuns say their mama and daddy have gone to heaven, but Barn' says that's garbage. Mama might be there, he concedes, but their daddy definitely ain't; heaven is only for good people. Barney says daddy killed mama, just like he always swore he would, and killers go to hell.

A lake made out of fire that never stops burning sounds pretty terrible to Clint. He didn't like the way his daddy shouted and took swings at him or mama, or on very rare occasions- at Barney, but he mostly just wanted it all to stop. He wasn't nearly imaginative or vindictive enough to think up a lake of fire. Barn' says he's too soft. Clint likes to think his mama went somewhere nice, peaceful-like, but he's not sure he understands how the god that the nuns talk about can be all about love, but be alright with some people burning forever for their screw ups. Clint will make sure he doesn't screw up, he wants to go to the nice place where mama is.

They've been at the orphanage for a few weeks, when a young couple stop and talk to him. They seem pretty nice, and he thinks the woman's daemon- _a Saluki_ , she tells him with a small smile- is especially beautiful. But Clint doesn't want to be separated from Barney, and they aren't looking for two children, or an older boy. Barney calls him an idiot, but his brother is extra nice to him for the next few days, and Clint thinks he's made the right choice; that maybe Barney didn't want to be parted from him either.

It's the same song and dance for a couple of years. People like Clint; he's young, skinny as a rail but healthy, reasonably appealing with his straw colored hair and big blue eyes, and polite, if only a little shy. Mallory is cautious, protective of Clint, but polite enough perched on his shoulder or sitting in his lap, depending on the form she's decided to take that day while he talks to visitors. Barney and Cleo on the other hand, if they come down from the rooms at all on visitation days, make no attempts whatsoever to hide their disdain for the whole thing. ' _Beauty pageants_ ' and ' _popularity contests_ ', Barney insists, shaking his head, when yet another potential family passes on the opportunity to take both of them.

By the time Clint's eight, he's given up trying too. There have been less and less couples that ask to speak to him as he's gotten older, and nobody that was interested in taking in both of them. Ten years seems like a lifetime away, but Clint finds himself imaging the sorts of things he'll do, places he will go, when he's out of the system. Barn' will age out first, of course; maybe if he's good, he can convince his brother to adopt him and take him with him.

Clint's all but given up hope for anything else or more immediate, when against all odds they're offered a home again. The older man, Mr. Peters, is a widower, and seems to be familiar with the church and God that the nuns always talk about. He talks about teaching them about him, and raising them right, and brings Clint and Barney sweets and presents every time he visits. Clint can hardly believe it as he watches the orphanage shrinking away in the distance from the rear-view window. They're finally free.

Barney spends as much time as he can out of the house, hanging about in town. Clint supposes it makes sense after so many years cooped up on a tight leash at the orphanage, but he misses his big brother. Clint is going to a real public school for the first time ever and finding it more than a little difficult making friends and fitting in. The only thing Clint's really enjoying about it so far is the new animals he learns about now and again, and watching Mallory try out all sorts of new forms.

Clint knows when you get older your daemon can't change all the time like Mallory can, _settling_ Barn' had explained to him. His brother's daemon can still change forms too, but he thinks that maybe Barney and Cleo are nearly settled, she seems the most comfortable and at ease as the beautiful, inky black raven that often rides on Barney's shoulder, or flies near his side. Clint knows Mr. Peters must have a daemon too, everyone does. There's stories of other worlds where people can't actually see or talk to their daemons, but that's just silly talk. Still, Clint has never actually seen the man's daemon before. He reasons that perhaps this is because it's form is very small, but it makes him a little uncomfortable- not knowing if it could be the fly in the kitchen, or the spider in the closet, or something. Clint wonders if it's rude to ask him about it.

His own daemon is trying out a tortoise form like their class pet while he's talking to their new guardian about his report card, and his worries about school and the other kids. The old man seems distracted, like maybe he's thinking about something else, but Clint is too relieved to have someone else to talk to, to care too much about it. That is until Mr. Peters is suddenly reaching across the desk to stroke along the back of the tortoise's shell. Mallory shivers and manages despite a less expressive face than some of her favorite forms to look nervous and distinctly uncomfortable. Clint feels it too: that distinctly icy chill down the back of his spine, but reasons that maybe Mr. Peters was like he himself had been, and has never seen a tortoise before, and does his best to let it go.

 _It'll be fine,_ the old man assures him with a smile, the other kids just need a little time to see what a good boy Clint is. He even lets Clint have some ice cream before supper.

 **"I don't like him,"** Mallory whispers conspiratorially, later that night once he's gone to bed.

"Why not," Clint asks softly.

 **"He touched me,"** Mallory scowls. **"And he's too nice."** Clint wrinkles his brow in confusion.

"C'mon, he's better than the nuns, ain't he," he counters. "And he doesn't shout, or try to hit us. He doesn't even mind Barney runnin' around all night, gives him spending money and everything."

**"Just be careful, Clint, there's something funny about him I just don't trust."**

"Alright," Clint promises, curling in around her and settling in to sleep. "But I still think you're being silly," he mumbles tiredly.

He's a little less convinced when Mr. Peters continues to find reasons to touch him. Holding his hand, even though Clint doesn't need or ask him to, a hand on his shoulder... He doesn't hurt him, so Clint figures it probably only feels weird because he's not used to it, but he wishes he would stop.

He doesn't.

Clint doesn't like to bother Barney, as his big brother so often likes to remind him: he's got plenty of his own problems. Most of them seem to do with girls and problems Barn' brings on himself, but Clint wouldn't dare tell him so. All he asks is for Barney to take him to the movies with him.

"It ain't for kids," Barney replies gruffly while lacing up his boots.

"Please," Clint pleads. "I'll be real, quiet, I don't even gotta sit with you and your friends, or nothin'," he promises.

Sometimes Clint has dreams of him and Barney playing down by the creek, catching frogs and the like. Dreams of a much more affectionate big brother than the one he's had since mama and daddy died. He doesn't remember whether or not they're real, whether they might be memories, or if they're just dreams, and he's too afraid to ask, but Barney looks out for him, always has, even if sometimes it doesn't seem like his big brother likes him all that much. Barney studies him for a minute after that, and Clint does his best not to squirm under his appraising gaze. 

"Clint, why do you really wanna go to the movies," his brother asks suspiciously.

"I miss you," Clint replies truthfully. "And I don't want to be here alone anymore," he adds, a bit more truthfully.

"Why not Clint," Barney probes with a sigh, taking a more permanent seat on the edge of his bed and beckoning his younger brother and his daemon to join him, while Cleo takes to cleaning her feathers on the windowsill. So Clint tells him. About the way the man is really nice to him, too nice, about the candy, and the ice cream, about the way he likes to comfort and touch Clint, except it makes Clint feel worse somehow, and about him touching Mallory, and pretty soon he's crying.

"I wanna be good Barn'," he chokes between big, fat tears. "I don't want him to send us back. Or just send me back, and take you away. I was trying to be good, I don't wanna go to hell."

Barney looks somewhere between utterly shocked, and ready to punch something, and Clint shakes, because that's got to be his fault too. "You ain't bad. And you ain't going to hell, Clint," Barney promises, tentatively reaching out-his movements slow and orchestrated enough his little brother can easily stop him if he wants to- and wraps an arm around his shoulder. "That dirty old man is," he swears the free hand in his lap curling into a tight fist that makes his knuckles turn white.

"Now you listen to me," Barney says straightening up and running a hand through his hair the way he always does when he's fixing to start something with someone. "You're gonna go get some clothes out of your dresser. Two pants, some shorts, four shirts, lots of socks and underwear. Pack your new shoes he bought you and wear the old ones. And get your toothbrush. You're gonna grab whatever you can't part with, but you make sure your backpack ain't too heavy to carry, because I ain't lugging it for you, you got it," Barney asks. Clint sniffs, and nods. "Alright, you get that done, then you go wait for me at the bus station. I'll meet you there in a bit."

Clint bites his lip a little. He's not altogether eager to go or wait anywhere without his brother, but Barney must have his reasons, mustn't he?

"What are you gonna do," he manages softly.

"Never you mind that. I'm just gonna go have a chat with the old guy about respecting other people's space. Now, you remember what I told you?"

"Yeah Barney."

"Good. Because we ain't going to the movies tonight," his brother tells him standing up and dragging out his duffel from under his bed. "We're going to go see the circus."

Clint is slow. He can see Barney thinking it, he can see his mouth twitch with the urge to tell him to just shut up and do what he told him already, but Clint can't help it. He doesn't understand how just talking to Mr. Peters is going to work, and he doesn't want Barney to get into any trouble because of him.

"But what about-"

"Jesus-fucking-Christ Clint, just do like I told you and get the hell out of here alright," Barney snaps, stomping out of the room with Cleo flying out just behind him.

 **"He doesn't mean it,"** Mallory soothes, as Clint sucks in a deep breath, wiping his nose on his sleeve before dumping his school things out on the floor so he can pack what Barney told him to into his backpack. **"He's just worried that's all,"** she assures him, helping to remind him of the items he's supposed to remember as he goes.

Clint didn't think to check the time when he left the house, so he can't be sure how much time passes waiting for his brother at the station. He and Mallory watch the people and their daemons coming and going with the various arriving and departing busses, and make a game of trying to guess what sorts of jobs and lives they have. Twice Clint tells a concerned ticket salesman that he's promised to wait for his brother here, and that he will be here soon. He must be convincing because nobody tries to shoo him off or tell him he doesn't belong there.

It's starting to get dark by the time that Barney arrives to collect him, and his eyes look wild, the way Clint sometimes still dreams his daddy's might have looked when he was angry. He smells like smoke, and when Clint asks, replies that it's because he sent Mr. Peters 'to hell where he belongs.'

Clint doesn't ask any more questions. If the old man really was bad like Barney says, then whatever his brother did to him was probably doing god a favor. And if Mr. Peters wasn't bad like Barn' said, then Clint decides, he really doesn't want to know what happened. Clint has to believe his big brother is a good person, that one day they'll both get to see their mama again. And protecting your little brother is a good thing, right?

It isn't until Clint is fifteen, shivering with cold, wincing in pain, lying in a ditch and a growing pool of his own blood, thinking back on how it all started that he realizes, in a show of forethought that had never really been his strong-suit or general inclination, Barney had already had a bag packed the day they ran away to Carson's. Barney had already picked out the circus as his way out. Clint blinks up at the dark starry sky above him and wonders if his big brother always meant to leave him one day, the way his mama and daddy did, and if Mr. Peters hadn't simply, however unwittingly, delayed the inevitable. There's always one who leaves, and one who's left; maybe Clint's just the one who's always being left. _At least,_ he thinks, feeling his chest and eyes growing heavy even as Mallory fights valiantly to keep him talking, _he's the one that gets to leave now, now that he has nobody else left to lose._


	2. Carson's Menagerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [ Addie](http://www.runaepard.tumblr.com), who is celebrating her birthday today! Hope that you have a wonderful day, and that this daemons AU of mine is shaping up into something like what you had in mind and hoped for with your request. Thank you as always for listening to my late night ramblings, and helping me with form analysis, names, and all the little minutia that really make this fic. <3
> 
> More tags may be added as the story progresses, please reference them to avoid any potentially triggering material.
> 
> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [afangirlreadsfics](http://www.afangirlreadsfics.tumblr.com)

Clint likes the circus. He and his brother have to work in order to earn their keep, but Clint doesn't mind that so much. They had chores back at the orphanage too. At least they get to travel a lot, Clint never dreamed of a world quite this big, much less that he might get to see this much of it. And he thinks, if there's any chance of Mr. Peters or someone looking for him and Barn' then they have a good chance of getting away as often as they pull up stakes and move on to the next town, the next show. Besides, while mucking out the animal's stalls isn't one of the most glamorous jobs in the world there aren't as many as one might expect of a show of Carson's size, because a great deal of the animal acts in the show are actually being performed by daemons!

Clint has never seen so many in one place, or so many different forms, and sets himself to the task of learning what each sort of animal is called and a little more about them every chance he gets. His own daemon, he often keeps hidden and tells no one about; he's picked up a thing or two from their time with their last guardian, and one of them is trust issues about a mile wide. Mallory takes on small, unobtrusive forms while Clint is working, a mouse tucked in his coat pocket, a box turtle hiding in the shadows, or maybe small bird watching over him from a high up perch.

Barney often complains about the tasks they are given, about the other carnies, even suggesting that they might run away from here too, but he doesn't seem to actually mean it. Clint thinks that maybe Barney just likes having something to complain about, although he isn't about to tell him so. Maybe his brother is afraid to trust something like this can last, or be as good as it seems, Clint knows he certainly is.

His brother seems to have less trouble with girls at any rate, or at least a different kind of trouble... Clint spends a lot of nights wandering around between the various tents and trailers, and occasionally sleeping in empty animal stalls while he's brother is busy 'entertaining' them, but it's alright. Clint loves those late hours of the night and early morning when everyone else has gone to bed, and the world is still and quiet but for the sounds of frogs and crickets, and the breeze rustling through the trees and canvas tents; likes climbing poles or on top of the animal's trailers and watching the stars fade into the rising sun.

Most of the other carnies and people at the circus take little interest in the two young runaways from Iowa that have joined their ranks. Clint does his best to keep to himself, to be invisible, as that seems to be what most adults want and expect of him anyway. Given that he's been at it since his daddy was still alive, Clint's reasonably good at doing so when he sets his mind to it. But he can't, it seems, be invisible to everyone.

"It isn't safe to climb tonight, мавпа," a soft voice calls late one evening just as Clint is about to climb a nearby tree and find himself a safe perch to tuck himself away and admire the night sky. And it's a good and near thing that he hadn't managed to get a few limbs up before he was interrupted by this interloper, because the young boy would almost certainly have fallen. Mallory was supposed to be keeping watch for him, but it's dark, and even he hadn't heard a sound until the woman had suddenly decided to speak up.

"Why not," he asks, perhaps a bit petulantly, because yeah, Clint can be a bit petty like that, and she did give him a scare.

"Rain is coming. Even if you make it up, which I'm sure you can, it would be dangerous to come back down once the storm starts."

"Barney didn't say anything about a storm," Clint mutters softly, glancing towards Mallory as the small lizard leaps from the tree onto his shoulder, as he lets his arms fall back to his sides, turning away from the large trunk to meet the older woman's gaze. He's seen her around the various tents before, recognizes her as their resident fortune teller, although Clint has never had the occasion to speak to her before now.

"There won't be many stars to see once the clouds move in," she comments softly, with what even in the fading light of the evening Clint can discern is a small and patient smile. "Would you like to come back to my trailer and have some tea?"

Most of the other performers and various staff tend to avoid the show's fortune teller. Clint supposes later that this is why he couldn't hide and remain invisible from her so well as the others, because she is accustomed to being invisible herself. But for his part the young boy cannot understand why everyone should give Lady Iryna such a wide birth. Clint assumes that her trade is much like the others have turned out to be, a series of distractions and clever tricks that give the illusion of magic. The Snake-charmer for example, who need hardly 'charm' her reptilian daemon into performing their various stunts night after night to earn their keep. Or the Lion-tamer who commands the king of all beasts with his own beautiful lioness daemon at his side. There's no such thing as being able to tell the future, Clint is sure, Iryna doesn't even try to defend her craft to him when he says so, simply smiling softly, eyes twinkling with amusement. Clint certainly doesn't see any reason to be frightened or wary of her and after everything that he and his brother have been through; he's getting much better at making those sorts of judgments. So he nods, and quietly falls in behind the woman as he weaves her way through the various tents and stands back to her own trailer near the opposite end of their lot.

The tiny trailer that he and Barney have been given is sparse. They didn't bring much in the way of personal belongings with them when they ran away, and Barney had pawned much of what wasn't necessity or had any sort of value for extra pocket money. Clint didn't mind really. He didn't need much, and he had even less, so if his brother needed it, or the money he could get from any of the things he had carried with them, he could have it. Doing his best to maintain a low profile meant the young boy hadn't had much occasion to visit or enter anyone else's trailers, but most people left their doors open, especially on hot summer nights like these. The other performer’s trailers often featured their old advertisements and show posters: colorful, prominent and larger than life, much like the people themselves, but Iryna's couldn't have been more different.

The first word that comes to mind when Clint steps into it is _soft_. It's almost den-like although, not in a scary or subtly threatening sort of way. The whole place seems to be lined with the softest pillows Clint has ever seen in all sorts of bright warm colors and interesting patterns. Near the back of one wall is a small table with a little hot plate and a kettle and a tea set, and a small cobbled together bookshelf with a number of worn looking hardcovers, and lots of cheap paperbacks. Clint thinks that there is probably some kind of mattress beneath all the pillows and several throws on the opposite end, but it's well hidden and somehow gives the trailer a more open feel, as if they are merely passing time in a living room rather than sitting in the middle of the whole of the older woman's living quarters. He likes it.

He watches as she pulls down a small tin box, before placing the kettle on the hot plate and turning it on to set the water to boil. Clint has never actually had tea before. The little cups and tiny plates on the table look incredibly delicate, and fancier than anything Clint's ever seen before in their deep blue, white and gold embellished patterns, making him almost nervous at the idea of using them. Mallory is still perched carefully on his shoulder, but he knows his daemon is carefully taking everything in as well to compare notes with him later. It would be rude, and more importantly, Iryna might notice if his daemon scampered off to better look around the place, and it's only when she reaches up to stroke the soft gray fur draped about her neck that he realizes her daemon.

"It's a fox," he blurts out in surprise, echoing Mallory's whispered observation before he can help himself. Iryna laughs softly, but nods, putting a few cookies on one of the pretty plates and setting it in front of Clint while they wait for the tea to be ready.

The daemon in question blinks lazily, and stretches for a moment, before sliding down from his perch to the floor and making himself comfortable on a nearby pillow.

"Lazy boy," Iryna chides, but Clint doesn't think she actually means it, because she's smiling.

"I thought it was just a scarf," he says, staring at the gray-haired animal blinking up at him and his own daemon.

"That is what we want people to think," Iryna replies with a wink. "Sashenka is my eyes and ears," she smiled, gently stroking between the foxes ears. "Not unlike your own daemon, I think," she observed quietly. "Though if you were to tell me what you are both looking for I could spare you the trouble of searching. I have nothing to hide from you, little one." Clint blushed, doing his best not to look flustered at being called out on his careful and meticulous categorization of everything he could see in the trailer, and make of the woman who occupied it. He thought briefly of protesting that he wasn't little, but Iryna was already turning back to the whistling kettle, seemingly unconcerned.

"What was that word, that thing you said earlier," Clint asks curiously in the lull of silence that falls between them.

"Hmm," Iryna hums softly, turning around to appraise him once more after she's returned the tin to its place on the shelf, and poured some of the boiling water over each of the cups and the metal balls full of leaves within them.

She's not that old, or at least not so much as he originally thought, Clint realizes as he studies her. She generally keeps her hair pinned up under the scarves that make up part of 'Lady Iryna's' costume, but studying her while her back was turned, and she was busying herself with their tea, there's not a hint of gray or white to found amongst her wild brown and short cut curls. She's pretty, Clint thinks off-handedly.

And she can't be any more than ten years older than Barney, but her eyes look somehow older. No less kindness in the green depths that gaze back at him than he'd first judged there to be out by the tree, but heavy, like she's tired. There's wrinkles around her eyes he knows come from smiles, but there's others around the sides of her mouth he thinks have come from frowns. She reminds him for a moment of a sister back at the orphanage, one of the nicer, soft-spoken ones who'd made life there just a little more bearable, but had always seemed just a little bit sad. ' _You just worry about yourself, ain't nobody else going to do it for you,_ ' His big brother had cautioned, when he'd thought to mention it.

"That word you said when you were trying to talk me out of climbing the tree," Clint continues, trying to summon the unfamiliar word and sounds from memory, so that he could repeat it. He needn't have bothered though.

"мавпа," she replies with a small chuckle.

"Yeah, that. What's that mean?"

"Monkey."

"But I'm not a monkey," Clint protests indignantly.

"No," she smiles, raising an eyebrow, and seeming to study him for a slightly uncomfortable moment. "No, perhaps you are not," she agrees. "But you certainly enjoy climbing like one. You like to be up high?"

Clint considers this for a moment, then nods. "I can see everything from up high." From outside the trailer comes a distant rumble of thunder, followed by the pattering of rain on the metal roof.

"A bird then, maybe. Not like your brother's though, I think... But don't worry," she continues kindly. "You have some years before your companion will choose a form to keep for the rest of your lives, more life ahead of you yet."

"Are you telling me my fortune?"

"I am sharing what I observe and knowledge from my experience," Iryna replies shaking her head. "That is all I do. People make of it and their lives what they choose," she shrugged.

"Now then милий, some tea?" Clint doesn't know what that word means either, but he thinks, based on the wrinkles around her eyes when she says it, that the word is a kind and soft one.

Clint finds that he spends a great deal of his time in the older woman's trailer, whether Barney has turned him out of their own sleeping quarters or not. The strange words and many others that follow are from another country, half a world away where Iryna was born and lived as a child, far different from the farms of Iowa. She teaches them to Clint, and shares stories of faraway lands, and the fairy tales he's never heard of before.

"You can read your own you know," she tells him with a smile one afternoon while they are taking lunch before the next show that evening, nodding to the small bookshelf. Clint frowns softly, shaking his head, even as Mallory: a little Sugar Glider today, gently nuzzles against his neck in a show of comfort and support.

"No? You admire the covers every time you visit. And they are almost all in English," she promises.

"I can't," he mumbles, blushing furiously and avoiding her eyes. Barney at least had been done with most of his schooling when they ran away, but Clint had only just begun his, and it wasn't as if Carson's had a school or anything.

"I can't-" but the rest of Clint's words are swallowed up with the big fat tears that leak out and pour down his face, and he waits.

Iryna is nice, maybe one of the nicest people Clint's ever met. He has trouble remembering much or anything very distinct about his mama anymore, but he thinks she might have liked her. It's not really necessary now they've made the circus their home, but Clint sometimes wishes she would adopt him, so she could be his new mother. But mother or no, crying is for babies, Clint knows because Barney has reminded him on several occasions. So he waits for the inevitable rebuke, but it never comes.

"Would you like to learn?"

For one brief moment Clint's spirit soars, before it comes abruptly crashing down again, and he shakes his head once more, and avoids the older woman's gaze. Mallory frowns, blinking up at him in silent query.

"You don't want to teach me," he replies softly, shaking his head. "I'm slow, it'll only frustrate you," Clint explains, earning him a sharp but superficial bite of protest from Mallory.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that? There are many different kinds of intelligence and skills, милий, just as there are many different kinds of people. I am very good at being patient, but I cannot believe teaching you would be so great a chore as you think. You have no trouble picking up the new words I teach you, we will have you reading soon enough."

Clint does learn to read, and not just English, but Cyrillic too, so that he can read any and all of the books in Lady Iryna's trailer, and even once in a great while pick up a book or two for himself in the towns they stop in. And maybe, he thinks as he sits up reading by the light of his small flashlight while his older brother sleeps on the mattress opposite, maybe he's not so slow or stupid after all. In fact, Clint is finding, he might be a lot of things he never suspected of himself before.

He was meant to be helping clean up after a show, and he was- really. Clint was only messing about a bit. The bow and the target were right there, and he'd only wanted to see if he could hit it. More importantly if he could even draw the bow back far enough. Clint didn't actually expect to hit it perfectly dead center, or that Trickshot would be watching from across the way.

"Do that again," the older man instructs, after closing the gap between them, handing him another arrow to try and hit the target with. Clint who'd been bracing himself for a good scolding for touching the archer and knife-thrower's equipment blinks and stares blankly for a minute, before taking the arrow being offered to him, and drawing back the bow once more. He takes a breath, ten lets it and the arrow go, watching the arrow as it flies and embeds itself just beside his last shot in the bull’s-eye.

By that evening it's been made clear, he won't be mucking out stalls anymore; Trickshot will be training him to be his sidekick, maybe even his protégé, to eventually perform in the show with him.

"Start thinking about a name, kid."

"It's Clint," he replies, because yeah he's good at making himself invisible, but he's seen the man talk to Barney more than once, doesn't he know his name yet?

"No, your stage name. The one they'll be announcing when you're good enough to go out there and perform with me." Clint nods. He'll think of something, _something cool_ , and he'll be good. He will train as long as he has to be the very best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Iryna's character is speaking Ukranian. мавпа as she says translates to "monkey", and милий is a diminutive term of endearment for a child meaning "darling". Both of these are from online translators, and the author is far from a linguistics expert, so please be gentle, but feel free to let me know if you are aware of more suitable words or translations.


End file.
